The Gift
by MASH-Nut-4077
Summary: It was a warm, sunny day in Hannibal, Missouri...


**(A/N: Just taking a quick break from my other story, Henry. ^-^ Enjoy!)**

The Gift

Retirement suited him well. Nothing but sunny days, good fishing, country doctoring and a healthy dose of Zane Grey lie ahead of Sherman Potter for the rest of his days.

It was 1956. The war had been over for three years, but hard as he tried, the old man couldn't push it out of his mind. Sure, the memories of old battles in World Wars one and two still occasionally plagued his dreams at night, but the Korean War... there was something different about that one. Usually when he dreamed about M*A*S*H 4077th, the shells, the gunfire, the anti-personnel mines, the blood, the screams, the tears... they dissolved into nothing. 

Hawkeye, BJ, Margaret, Charles, Klinger, Radar, Father Mulcahy, even Frank Burns. They were all with him in his memories. Often, when standing waist-deep in the river, struggling with a tough catch, he imagined what the big jokester of their camp might be saying. "Don't you know it's dangerous to fish in the cesspool, Colonel? After awhile, it'll get to you. I mean, just look at the cooks." Then he'd chuckle, take a good look at his fish, and let it go again.

"Sherm... Sherm! Hon, I think James just left. Must be the mail's here. Go get it for your darling wife and there'll be a slice o' pie for you when you come back!"

Giving his wife a peck on the cheek, the old man made his way through the kitchen and into the livingroom where he stooped, somewhat creakily, to give Reilly a pat on the head. Purring, the cream-colored cat walked away toward Mildred. Sherman paused on the front porch to take a deep breath and a look around. It was a warm day towards the end of April in Hannibal, Missouri. God, how he'd missed the place during his time in Korea.

He walked slowly out to the wooden mailbox and opened the hinged door on the front, pulling out four items. Shuffling through them, he muttered "Bill, bill, ...join the Army? Buffalo biscuits, they sure don't pay attention to where they send those anymore. What's this?" His withering hands stopped on the last envelope. It didn't have a return address on it, but on the front it said "Colonel Potter" and nothing more. Shoving the others back into the mailbox and never taking his eyes off this strange letter, Sherman tore open the top and took out a piece of paper. It read...

_Dear Colonel, (or Ol' Doc Potter as the case may be)_

Your mail comes at precisely 2:15 every day, rain or shine. I know, because I've observed you for the last three days, coming out at 2:20 to get it.- 

Sherman paused and looked up, glancing around. "What'n the hell?" He mumbled, going back to the letter.

_Oh, don't get worried over it, I'm not a stalking you. However, if I may say so, you **do** have beautiful legs. But at 2:25 today, you'll get a surprise..._

There was nothing more. He flipped it over and found nothing to be on the back, either. There was suddenly a very, VERY pathetic bugling noise that nearly made him jump out of his boots nonetheless. He'd know that bugling anywhere.

"...Radar?"

Laughing, two tall men, a blonde-haired woman, a very hairy lebanese man in a black evening gown, and a bespectacled priest marched around the corner of the dirt road. The man in the lead, with raven hair and bright blue eyes was grinning mischievously. It was a grin Sherman knew well.

"You dirty rotten scoundrels!" Sherman called out with a laugh. Mildred watched curiously from the window, hesitant to call out and disturb the meeting between her husband, and all these people that she didn't know. Of course, there were only so many people that Sherman Potter described down to the last facial hair in his letters... these had to be his campmates. She watched as they all shared hugs and quick greetings, before the dark haired man said

"Colonel, er, Sherman." His grin was fading slightly. "We're sorry to bring the news that Sophie passed away at Sister Theresa's orphanage last month. She was kind enough to put through a call to Margaret, who she reached through I-Corps." Their former C.O.'s face fell and he looked miserable. "So... so that's what you came to tell me? That my damn horse - I mean, that the orphanage's horse died?" His voice quivered slightly, and he cleared his throat. 

"No, no, that's not it! We have good news too!" Said the other man. He had a kind face, auburn hair, and a mustache that looked like a dead caterpillar had been adhered to his upper lip. "She left a legacy." Sherman was confused, until he saw Radar come around the same corner, a battered army bugle in one hand and a leadrope in the other. A small yearling filly folowed him, trotting along curiously and shaking her head once in awhile to try and rid herself of the simple halter.

"This is Sophie's daughter, Colonel. Uh, Sherman."

Klinger said with a curtsy. It was just as the scene had been when Radar had given Sophie to him as an anniversary gift. He pulled a handkerchief from the back pocket of his suspenders and wiped his eyes. "Sophie... Sophie was a mother?" He asked in a shaky voice. "That she was, sir. Isn't she beautiful?" Margaret asked. Sherman smiled at her and said "It ain't sir no more, Margaret. It's Sherman. And she's the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

Radar handed the leadrope over to Sherman, who gathered it into a coil and rubbed the young horse's dark forelock. She had a white blaze down her muzzle, and kindly brown eyes. Her coat was a deep chestnut, just like her mother's had been. 

"You people are the best I've ever known. Mildred!" He turned and called to the window. The old woman came bustling out on cue. "Mildred, I'd like you to meet those who served under - no, _with_ me in the war. Hawkeye Pierce, BJ Hunnicutt, Margaret Houlihan-" The blondehaired woman interrupted quickly "That's soon to be Margaret Pierce." "Hot dog!" Sherman cried, but composed himself in time to finish. "Ahem. Max Klinger, Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, and Walter O'Reilly." Mildred shook each of their hands.

Then, came the question they had all been hoping for.

"Would you folks like to come in for pie?" Hawkeye and BJ looked at eachother, their faces splitting into huge, childlike grins. Margaret shook her head. "Here it comes..."

"PIE!" 

They yelled in unison and started jumping up and down. Sherman looked at Mildred and said "See what I had to put up with for two years?" She laughed and shepherded them all in while her husband went to put the filly out in the long-unused barn. They were all sitting at the kitchen table, laughing and eating apple pie when he came back in. 

"Mmm, Colonel, you were right about her cooking..." 

The plump old lady raised her eyebrow at Hawkeye.

"Was there ever a doubt in your mind, young'n?"

"...No ma'am."

Sherman grabbed the last piece and sat down in an unoccupied chair. "Klinger, why'n'blazes are you wearing that gown? It's three in the afternoon. I thought you had more fashion sense than that." "I haven't worn dresses in three years! I still make 'em on the side for whoever needs 'em, but I left some of my good taste in Korea..."

They shared stories and relived memories until long after dark (and long after the pie was gone), when Radar finally asked "Colonel, uh, sir, I mean, Sh... Sherman, have ya given her a name yet?" There was no need to specify who 'her' was. "Matter o' fact, I have. Her name's Sophia." They all nodded, deciding they liked the new name. Sherman poured glasses of brandy for everyone excluding Radar, who had Grape Nehi, and raised his own.

"To old friends." There was a clink of glass all around, and the joined murmur

"To old friends."


End file.
